The Hero of Mistpeak
by Darktreader98
Summary: Set 20 years after the eventsof Fable 3. My OC Hero builds an army of Albion's remaining free peoples to combat the corrupt Hero King. Full details in Intro. I'm upping the rating to M for some suggestive content in Chapter One. But still language and violence.
1. Introduction

The Hero of Mistpeak

By Darktreader98

Set 20 years after the Hero of Brightwall defeated The Crawler. The main character is an OC (as always) and lives as one of Sabine's Dwellers in the Dweller Camp. The Hero of Brightwall is still alive and still rules Albion. It is kind of close to the events of Fable 3, I know, but I wanted to do a multi-chapter Fable story and I couldn't think of a plot. Almost set the same kind of way as Fable 3, the Hero is raising an army to combat the corrupt Hero King in the greatest war Albion has ever seen. Two great armies, each with a powerful Hero at its head. On a side-note, all the royal decrees that are made before The Crawler attacks are the evil decisions, so Albion has become a desolate wasteland. When the King had to decide between Elise and the riot leaders near the beginning of Fable 3, he chose to kill the villagers, so Elise lived. DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, but I love the games. Now let's get this show on the road before I give away the whole story. **P.S. If anyone wants to read a cheap little story about a hobbe, read my story Bill's Albion Adventure. I don't know if I can advertise my other stories, but there it is. DT98 out!**


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

My breathing was light and clouded in the cold mountain air as I ran through the forest. I had been tracking my prey for two days and it had near eluded me three times now. I couldn't afford to let it get away. I heard a rustling in the bushes off to my left. Being rather light on my feet, I managed to stop mid-run in complete silence. I edged closer to the sound and dove behind a nearby tree. The bushes rustled again. I dared a look and caught my breath when I saw it.

My prey.

I raised my rifle to my shoulder and aimed carefully. I took a deep breath. It raised its head and turned in my direction. I pulled the trigger just as it saw me, and by then it was too late.

The deer went down.

I laughed to myself and had a quiet celebration of my victory. I went over to check my kill. A fairly large buck, enough to feed the tribe for a couple of days. The forest was still small and food scarce after the war twenty years ago. We lost plenty of Dwellers and the tribe still hasn't quite replenished its numbers.

When King Gareth denied Sabine the promise he said he would keep, the Dwellers retreated into the mountains. It's technically poaching to hunt in these forests, but it's the only food source left. We had enough food supplied to last a decade, but five years after the king defeated The Crawler he came to our camp and tried to drive us extinct. He burned our food reserves. The men were put to death while the women watched. And then after… the Albion Army made the women wish they had been executed with the men. After the ordeal, most of the women were granted their wish, but some were taken back to Bowerstone. Some escaped. A small group of men and women, including Sabine, fled deeper into the mountains. We have lived there ever since.

I holstered my rifle behind my back and grabbed the buck by its legs. I picked it up and started walking, holding a pair of legs on either side of my neck like a backpack. As I started back towards the camp, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. It wasn't right, what the king did to us. He slaughtered us like animals, and why? Because we didn't do what was asked of us? This was all long before I was born. I was born not long after the massacre fifteen years ago. All I know of the world, the battles, the king, I learned from Sabine and my mother.

I smiled. No matter how angry the massacre makes me, it always makes me feel better to think of them. Sabine is not my father, but he might as well be. The strange old man raised me like he would his own son. And my mother is the most wonderful person in Albion. She is one of the victims who escaped the soldier's tents on the night of the massacre. She claims not to know who my father is, but I don't know if I believe her.

I walked for a long time thinking about this. By the time I reached the gates it was almost dark. As I approached them, I saw the gates were already raised. I immediately dropped the buck and drew my rifle.

Something wasn't right.

I entered the camp and my fears were proved correct. Corpses lay strewn across the streets. Caravans were ablaze.

There had been a battle. And it was looking like we lost.

I suddenly broke into a run towards the centre of camp. Towards Sabine's court. To where my mother and I live.

I reached the centre of camp in a matter of minutes, where I got my first look at the attackers.

Soldiers. Not just any soldiers, either. King Gareth's Elite. The most well trained and disciplined soldiers in Albion. From the top of an intact caravan, I took in the scene before me. Thirty elite soldiers stood around the remaining twenty Dweller men. Another ten dead Dwellers were in a large pile, all without heads. The fifteen Dweller women were in a large cage. And two faces stood out from the crowds. My mother, closest to the door of the cage, and Sabine, bound and gagged, at the head of the other men surrounded by soldiers.

"How should we kill him?" I heard one soldier ask one beside him.

"I say we cut off his head with a dull axe, then stick it on a pike." the soldier replied.

"I like it how you think." the first soldier said, the smile audible in his voice. He stepped towards Sabine, raising his hand axe. The urgency of the situation got to me. I raised my gun to my shoulder, took steady aim, and fired.

When the gun went off, the first soldier fell. The others then turned to my direction and drew their swords. One by one, I started letting off my rifle, taking out the soldiers closest to Sabine with perfect headshots. Several of the soldiers started running towards my caravan, some drawing their rifles as well. I threw my hunting knife straight into the chest of my closest assailant and jumped off the caravan, making a mad dash to Sabine. But before I could reach him, the worst became a reality.

One of the soldiers I shot had gotten up. I could see the shot wound, and it had only nicked his head. The soldier stood in front of Sabine, sword drawn, and stabbed him through the heart.

"NO!" I shouted. Something was happening, but I didn't know what. Time felt like it was slowing down. Suddenly, a bolt of blue lightning shot from my hands and struck the soldier. He immediately fell, his uniform scorched and his body steaming.

"He's a Will user!" I heard one of the soldiers shout from behind me. I had heard of Will before, but I couldn't register what it meant. Instead of trying to do it again, I picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers. Blades clashed and bodies fell. For a matter of minutes, this battle went on, until there was not a soldier left standing.

I rushed to Sabine and grabbed the blade protruding from his chest. He looked up and slowly pushed my hands away.

"No, Zane."

I forced him down and grabbed the swords hilt again. "You don't know what you're talking about," I told him. "It's just a flesh wound. You'll make it."

"No, boy," he said again, this time more forcefully. "This old mountain goat is ready to die. You have to protect your mother now. Protect Elise, protect the village. Seek vengeance…" And with that last breath, Sabine of the Mistpeak Dwellers, survivor of the Battle for Albion, passed on. I lowered my head and let the pain wash over me. I started to feel the tears coming when I heard my mother scream.

"Zane!"

Then the cage exploded.

"NO!" I screamed. This couldn't be happening. And yet, it was.

With no screams left for me to hear, I lowered my head while listening to the roaring fire that signalled the end of my normal life.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

As I knelt on the ground, the pain took over. I held my face in my hands and let the tears flow freely. But the pain was quickly replaced by something else.

Rage.

Tears still streaming down my face, I grabbed my rifle that was lying nearby and stood up. I looked around to see the remaining twenty Dweller men looking at the burning cage in utter shock. These were their wives, their sisters, their mothers and daughters. And now they are all gone. And all I could think of was who's to blame. Not the soldiers. While it was a poor excuse, they were simply following orders. And they paid with their lives for it.

No, the soldiers were not truly at fault for this. The blame goes to the King. King Gareth has been the cause of so much pain and suffering in Albion. So many have been the victims of his rule. The Dwellers wanted nothing more than to live in peace, but the King couldn't even allow that. This couldn't continue. Someone has to do something…

I slowly pulled the sword out of Sabine. I wouldn't leave it to desecrate his body. I walked over and climbed on top of one of the remaining caravans. I looked around at the scene below me. Caravans burning. Men weeping. Sword still in hand, I pointed my rifle at the sky and let off three shots.

The men looked away from the smoldering wreckage and up at me. The grief and agony on their faces was unmistakable. Very slowly, I started to speak.

"Fellow Dwellers…" I said as loudly as I could. "I can't express the extent of my feelings on this tragedy. We have all lost those dear to us today –"

"What do you know, Lucas?" a voice shouted from the group. It was Lester the shopkeeper. "We lost our wives! Our brothers and sisters! Who did you lose? Your whore of a mother?"

As soon as he said that final word, I lowered my rifle and let two rounds into his leg.

"You will not speak of my mother like that!" I yelled as he lay on the ground screaming in agony. "My mother was the healer of this camp! She helped us all more times than any of us can remember! She certainly helped us more than your actual whore wife! If I'm correct, almost every man standing here has gone a round or two with your wife!"

As I left that to sink in with Lester, I addressed the rest of the camp. "Dwellers!" I shouted, the anger flowing through my words. "I know and share in your grief! But now is not the time to be at each other's throats! For too long we have sat here in hiding! For too long King Gareth has sat on the throne of Albion, corrupting this land!" I paused as that went through to the men. I heard murmurs and whispers throughout the crowd.

"We have prospered here!" I continued. "But now he has found us! And when the soldiers don't return, when he learns we survived, do you think he will give up? No! The King will not rest until every one of us lies dead! It is time to come out of hiding! It is time to bring the fight to the very heart of Albion!" The whispers and murmurs grew louder until they became shouts and cheers.

I crossed my rifle and sword over my head. "Today we fight! We fight for freedom! For justice! For Albion!" A great cheer rang out from the crowd. The pain and grief evident in their voices, but with a spark of strength and rebellion behind it.

Suddenly, the cheers stopped. Time froze in place. And in a great flash of light, all colour drained out of the world until the scene around me was gray and white. And standing in front of me was a woman in red robes with her hood pulled up. She looked up at me and I saw she had a piece of cloth tied around her head, covering her eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked her. "And what's going on?"

I am Theresa," she said. "Seer of the Spire. I am here because you have drawn me here. You have inspired these men to fight when they would rather hide in the shadows. You are right. For too long King Gareth has sit on the throne. You have the potential to lead the rebellion this kingdom needs."

"You really believe so?" I asked her. She nodded "Why? Because I could rally a few shattered men? Because I said some words that gave them heart? You've got the wrong person. Find someone else to lead your rebellion."

"You are fit to lead for more reasons than this one here today," she said. "You are to lead because it is in your blood. It is your destiny. To lead a rebellion against the Hero King, the rebellion must be led by just that; a Hero."

The entire time she had been talking, I was working on cleaning mud from my rifle. But when she said the last part, I looked up. "What did you say?" I asked.

"The only person capable of raising an army strong enough to challenge the King is a Hero," she replied, never looking away from me. If she can look at all, I guess. "You are next in the Heroic bloodline."

"Now I know you've got the wrong person," I said, laughing a bit. "I'm no Hero."

"You summoned Will. Nobody but Heroes can accomplish such a thing."

In that moment I remembered the blue lightning. The soldier that cried out, "He's a Will user!" It sank in that what this woman was saying could be true, and suddenly I felt weak at the knees.

"Alright," I whispered. "Say I am a Hero, what do I have to do to prove it?"

"Nothing," she replied. "The fact you've used Will already proves it. No Hero in almost a century has been able to manipulate Will without a gauntlet. You are powerful. And your power will only continue to grow." She gestured to my sword and rifle. "Though, you will need better weapons."

With another flash of light, we appeared in a cave with a large stone chest in the centre. Theresa approached the chest and lifted the lid. She reached in and pulled out two objects wrapped in cloth.

"I am the trainer of Heroes. I helped put King Gareth on the throne of Albion. But now is the time to right that wrong. And to do that, I grant you these."

She held out the cloth objects and I took them. I unwrapped them to find the most beautiful weapons I'd ever seen. There was a sword with solid black blade, with a snarling balvarine carved into the blade near the hilt. The hilt seemed to be carved from solid bone in a cutlass style. It sat perfectly in my hand with immaculate balance. The second weapon was a revolver pistol. The metal was all coloured blood red and the barrel was shaped like a dragon, mouth agape, so the bullet would seem like it would be coming out the dragon's mouth. Just like the sword, the gun had perfect balance and was amazingly light.

"These weapons have been passed down through Heroes for centuries, changing with every new Hero to wield them. The last Hero to wield these weapons was none other than King Gareth."

I flicked my wrist and twirled the sword, then looked at Theresa with a devilish smirk. "I get to kill the king with his own weapon? Very ironic. I love it."

"The power you possess is unlike anything seen in this world since the former Hero King, Sparrow." Theresa explained. "Gareth didn't have half the power his father did, and he abused it. Don't make the same mistakes he did, Lucas. Do not abuse these gifts."

I nodded. "I won't Theresa. Thank you."

With another flash of light, I was back at the Dweller Camp. The blind seer was nowhere to be seen, but I got the feeling I hadn't seen the last of her.

The men were still cheering, their voices filled with agony and rage. Some were calling for blood. I hopped down off the caravan and walked towards one of my close friends, a man named Frederick. The sword was strapped to my back and the pistol holstered at my hip.

"What do we do now Lucas?" Frederick asked me. He followed as I walked past him towards the burning remains of my caravan.

"Now we build an army."

**Holy shit did that ever take a long time to update! My bad people, I'm sorry. I hope you like this chapter because it took me quite a while to get it done. DT98 out!**


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